Fall - A New Beginning

I apologize in advance; this is probably going to get a little cooky before I am done. I just got back from a run, like literally sitting in the kitchen with my sports bra on writing this. I have decided that if I intend to write more. I should write when I have something to say. Man, I am so smart. Anyways, I love running in the fall. The colors and trees are so beautiful. This afternoon was no different, and I was looking around appreciating the beauty and hating that it would “end” soon. The leaves will soon fall, winter will come and it will be over until spring. Then a queer thought came into my head, what if fall is actually the beginning. The more that I thought of this, the more it made sense to me. If you have ever planted a seed, you know that although you may not see anything above the surface yet, major things are happening beneath the soil. If the prep work is never done underneath the soil, then there would never be anything above. So how can spring be the beginning? Wouldn’t there have to be a season of preparation? Maybe fall is the first part of the preparation. The trees are actively choosing to shed themselves in order to prepare for the new things to come.Shedding the leaves seems to be a process. It seems like trees fight the urge to change their leaves. I always find that trees stay green for quite awhile, after the official season of fall starts. Then you see one spot of color on an entire green tree. As if the tree held out for as long as it could, and once they have accepted the color, then the shedding starts. Maybe that is why you see some trees hold their leaves until the last possible second it seems. Maybe they were the ones just weren’t quite ready to let go of the old in preparation of the new. This also makes me wonder why we celebrate the new year in the dead of winter. Isn’t the whole point of New Years is to set goals and ambitions for the upcoming year. It seems so unnatural to do it then. Why not practice the act of shedding our old selves during the seasonof fall along with the trees? It works so well for them. They shed themselves, they enter a season of anticipation and preparation. And then all of sudden, BOOM, spring. Amazing. I have some things I need to shed. Some bitterness, some self doubt, some Wish I’s and some Shoulda’s. Hell, while I am shedding things, I may as well shed this bit of fear. I am going to enter a season of preparation and anticipation. I have some amazing things in my life, and I can only imagine what is in store for me come spring.

I am a writer.

I am writer. I know that the few of you who read this are thinking, “ummm...yeah” But I don’t think I realized this, or I have definitely forgotten about it. Now that I sit and think about it, I have written quite a bit over the years. I wrote all my speeches throughout my many years in 4-H. I was the kid in high school that was acting like they were complaining, but was secretly a little excited about doing the research paper I remember being super clever on my introduction about my subject, Latin dancing. It went something like... “You see a couple in a dimly lit room. Two sweaty bodies convulsing to one dominate beat. You can’t look away, and are force to pry into this passionate moment. What are they doing? The salsa, of course.” Pretty clever, right? High school seniors loved it. I actually studied poetry while I was in high school on the side. My dad and I would go to Dothan once a month, so I could sit and converse with people much older than me. I would read my poetry for them, and listen to theirs. Before insurance, I was actually a journalism major in college. I also have started a blog. A blog that has derailed from its primary purpose, but a place where I write occasionally. So yes, I guess I am a writer. So I don’t know why it surprised me so much when Justin called me one on Thursday night. I don’t even remember the conversation; I just know that we were on our way home from the concert. He said, “Blah blah blah, you are a good writer.” And I was like, “say what?” Now if you know my husband, then you know Justin is also a writer. His short stories are amazing. His creative story lines and incredible description of detail is what I like most about his writing. Although, he doesn’t write as much as he should, he is a writer. And a very good one. So when Justin said that I was a good writer, it took me by surprise. First of all, he has never said that in the almost ten years we have been together. Second, I guess I thought since I don’t think I could ever write a book or a really good short story, that my writing was subpar. But Justin labeled my writing as a style, a style that he has tried before and can’t seem to get just right. We talked about how our styles are way different, the biggest difference being the audience. Justin has always written for others. His writings are meant for others to see and to appreciate. My writing is for me. I don’t give two s***s if I am the only one who reads this blog. This is me and my feelings, and I read them. I write for myself, and if others enjoy, that’s even better. So if I am a writer, and if I write about my feelings, and if I have a lot of feelings, I should be writing more. So why aren’t I? Good question, really good question.